


The Importance of a Good Cup of Coffee

by LiraelClayr007



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (just a brief mention), (yes you read that right) - Freeform, Blood and Injury, Coffee, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt Clint Barton, M/M, aka Clint's in medical again, balloon aliens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: Of course Clint Barton falls in love over a cup of coffee.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 23
Kudos: 104





	The Importance of a Good Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> It's National Coffee Day (in the US) so I took a tiny break from writing Unshackled to write a silly little thing about Clint and Bucky and Coffee. Because why not? Fluff is fun, and Clint needs a good cup of coffee _and_ someone to snuggle.
> 
> Love, Lira 🏹
> 
> P.S. This is for all y'all Clintucky Fried Chickens....

Clint stumbles into the common area, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Just like every morning. And like most mornings lately, Bucky’s there waiting, handing him his favorite mug full of his favorite of the fancy coffees Tony keeps hidden for himself. Clint smiles through the sleep-haze. “You know what I like, Buck. Whatcha gonna do when Stark figures out it’s you stealing from his stash?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up in a grin. “Tony’s smart, but I’ve been around the block a few times. I’m not afraid of a guy in a metal suit.”

“What’s that, Terminator?” Tony asks from the doorway, doing a nervous energy snap-snap-clap pattern with his hands.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I said good morning, rust bucket.”

“Enough you two,” Clint says, sliding onto a stool. “Let me enjoy Tony’s gourmet coffee in peace.”

“I’m fine,” Clint grumbles, trying to escape the circle of Avengers around him. He looks from one to another, trying to find a weak link. “Sam? Thor? _Nat_?” They all shake their heads. Nat has a grim smile on her face.

“We’re taking you to medical, you idiot,” she says. There’s warm fondness in her voice. “That cut on your leg needs stitches. And I’m pretty sure you inhaled something toxic. Just let them check you out. I promise I won’t let them keep you overnight.”

“Unless they think I need it,” Clint mutters under his breath.

Nat ruffles his hair. “You know me too well, little bird.”

Jerking his head away, Clint says petulantly, “I’m not a child.” But he follows anyway, decidedly limping.

About ten minutes later, Bucky follows too, pushing into Clint’s exam room with a travel mug. Clint brightens almost audibly. Ignoring the doctor putting stitches into his thigh, he reaches out to Bucky with grabby hands. “Coffee!”

Bucky looks at the doctor. “Is he cleared for this?”

The doctor, looking harassed, says, “Do you think I could stop him?” She gives Natasha a _you’re supposed to be keeping him under control_ kind of look. Nat looks bored.

Shrugging, Bucky says, “Maybe not. But I could.” He gives Clint a wicked grin.

Clint pouts.

“As long as he doesn’t spill any on my head, he’s clear to drink coffee,” the doctor says with a sigh. She shrieks when Clint tries to jump off the table to get to Bucky. “That doesn’t mean you can get up!” she says, steel in her voice. Clint settles back down, mollified.

“Only if you’re good,” Bucky says, holding the mug just out of Clint’s reach.

Clint gives Bucky his best, most charming smile. “I’ll be good,” he promises.

“Yes you will.” When Bucky gives him the mug Clint looks at him like he’s some sort of god. “Did you get the good drugs?” Bucky asks.

“Maybe a little.” Clint giggles.

“More than a little,” Natasha says. “His lungs are clear, but the thigh wound is pretty deep. No need for surgery, but lots of stitches. Gotta keep mister flight risk in a good mood.”

“Flight risk?” Clint looks confused. “I don’t have any wings.”

“Definitely the good drugs,” Bucky says, shaking his head.

Clint gives him a goofy smile and sips his coffee.

“You know what I like about you, Buck?” Clint shoots an orange alien in the torso. It collapses, like all the air was let out of it.

Bucky shoots three more aliens, bang-bang-bang, then tilts his head to look at the odd way they fall to the ground. “My roguish charm?” he says, then finds three more to shoot down.

“These are so weird, it’s almost like shooting parade balloons. Except, well, smaller,” Clint says, then goes back to the topic at hand. “Of course your charm, but that goes without saying. No, it’s your attention to detail that really tugs at my heartstrings.” He shoots an arrow that goes straight through one alien and continues on through two more behind it. “Neat.” He grins.

“My attention to detail?” Bucky turns to look at Clint, an odd look on his face. He shoots the alien coming up behind him right through the middle.

“Sure! You know that in the morning I like my coffee black. You know that after a particularly tough battle I like a little sugar added. And I don’t know how you figured it out, but you even know that when I come back from long ops with Nat I almost always add a dash of vodka when I can get away with it.” He shakes his head. “I know I’ve never done that when anyone was looking. Did JARVIS rat me out?”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Nah. Natalia does the same thing. Clint, is this your way of asking me to get you a coffee after the mission?” The aliens have started to figure out that the two of them are to be feared, so are staying back, but they haven’t yet realized the range of Bucky’s rifle. He takes out one across the street, and there’s a high pitched keening noise from all around.

“Is that a warning signal or are they just pissed off at you?” Clint wonders aloud. Then he grins at Bucky. “I’d never ask you to bring me coffee, Buck. But you know me, I’d never turn one down, either. Duck!” Bucky drops, and Clint shoots one of the bolder aliens, trying to sneak up on them. The air or gas or whatever is holding its shape leaks out and it slips to the ground.

“Autumn in New York,” Clint says, kicking at a leaf on the sidewalk. “I’d like it better if it wasn’t so cold already. It’s only September.” 

“Come on, you big baby.” Bucky grabs Clint’s hand and tugs him into a coffee shop; he buys them each a coffee to go. When they get back onto the street Clint’s got an odd expression on his face.

They walk a little more, cocooned in the bustle of the city; Bucky sipping his coffee, Clint gulping his. After a few minutes Clint says, “Wanna go to the dog park? That’s always fun on an afternoon off.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were cold.”

“I’ve got coffee now,” Clint says, raising his cup. “Coffee keeps me warm.”

After a thoughtful pause, Bucky says, “Or I could.”

“Or you could what?” asks Clint absently, his brain already navigating the best route to the park.

Reaching out to snag Clint’s free hand in his, Bucky says, “I could keep you warm.”

Clint trips over his feet, nearly drops his coffee, and ends up in Bucky’s arms. “Nice reflexes,” he says.

“I work out.”

Clint laughs; a little breathy, but true. “That kinda line usually work, sweetheart?”

He pulls Clint a little closer, so their faces are just a breath apart. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Just before their lips meet Clint murmurs, “Don’t spill my coffee.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to laugh, warm and bright, banishing any cold from the air around them. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

No coffee is spilled during the kiss, and as they walk Bucky buys them each a second cup. Their fingers stay intertwined the whole way home.


End file.
